


cat's cradle

by villacreek



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other, you get a cool horse too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 02:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19416688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villacreek/pseuds/villacreek
Summary: You hate your dad, so you sneak off to the forest to summon a demon to get rid of him. Somehow, you're not the only one with that idea.





	cat's cradle

This wing of the forest has been long since avoided. For good reason, you presumed, what with the snakey tendrils of thick fog and the bonelike trees, but that was just appearances—you looked at the skyline in the distance from your bedroom and gazed at a seed of opportunity.

Your father was a crooked man, and if not that, simply a terrible ruler. Being head of the noble house that oversaw your village had long since clouded his head. He worked servants to the bone and barked at them when things faltered, whilst his people starved from the economy gone haywire.

It was your coming-of-age, and you’d had enough. The forest in the distance beckoned, alongside the superstition threaded within its bark: deep in its depths lay a serpentine demon, rife with destructive power. It was not to be meddled with, but meddling did so entice you. Your blood ran hot at the thought of taking your father down. That night, you would strike a deal.

The air was damp and misty. You’d packed a meager satchel, mounted a white mare from the stables and silently rode out into the night. Your hood was drawn closely over your head to obscure your face. By the time you’d arrived at the edge of the forest, the palms of your hands were raw from gripping the reins, but not out of fear—rather adrenaline at the thought of what was to come.

That was half an hour ago. You had been wandering a fair amount of time, trusting your instincts to guide you to the demon’s dwelling. That they did.

But you were met with more than you’d expected.

The moment you edged out into the clearing, your eyes locked upon a pale, blonde boy, about your age, seemingly doing the exact same thing you were. A pit grew in your stomach, but you couldn’t recognize what emotion it stood for.

It took him a bit longer, but eventually, he noticed you too. He didn’t act nearly as calmly, though—he favored making a show of it. He gasped loudly, leaping up like a spring, then coughed into his sleeve from the cold air. His eyes flipped rapidly from the ground and back up to you, vapidly confused.

“Who are you? What’re you doing here?” you offered, hand clutching the hood of your cloak.

The boy gave one last hack and stood back up, straightening himself out. He attempted a confident sneer, screwing up his face, but it turned out more like a nervous smirk instead. His cheeks had turned pink.

“I-I could be asking you the same thing,” he retorted.

“Good point.” You had nothing else to offer. The two of you sat in silence for a time, observing eachother. The boy looked relatively well-kept, but he had a slightly primal air to him, as if he lived wild.

“…You here for Vlagnagog?”

The words made you jump, this time. You could hear he’d stifled a small laugh. “Is that the name of…the demon that sleeps here?” you asked, curiously.

“You came here wanting to see him and you didn’t even know his name?” he scoffed, placing a hand on his hip. “He’s the wyrm of destruction. My clan pays tribute to him all the time.”

“Your clan? That’s…funny. The only clan I’ve heard of around these parts is the Scourge of the South…”

Your words were uncertain. You had heard of this “Scourge of the South” from ruined frescoes in the village outskirts and dusty tapestries in the manor library, and nothing painted them in a friendly light. A demon was fine in your book, but a hostile tribesman was not something you had been banking on seeing.

Unfortunately, the boy laughed pompously. “You got it! That’s where I’m from. In fact,” he said, very proud, “I’m the prince.”

“You’re kidding!” you exclaimed, instinctively taking a step back. The boy laughed some more, pleased with your reaction.

“Oh, I would never! We’re really strong and stuff, y’know, the works,” he exclaimed, grinning. And then all of a sudden his voice dropped low, as if he was worried you were being eavesdropped upon.

“But, y’see…” he started, “I don’t really like how my parents run things around there. So I came here to take care of them.”

He seemed abnormally proud about this as well, and perhaps a bit giddy about his plan. But you couldn’t help but relate to him.

“I’m here for the same reason,” you replied, stepping closer. “My father is an awful ruler. Quite frankly, I’m…tired of him. So I turned to this.” You moved your hand across the clearing in a wide gesture. The boy’s face lit up, again flicking from you, to the clearing, and back again.

“Really?” he asked. “Where are you from?”

“The village up north from here,” you replied. “It’s really more of a town by now, but it’s in shambles because of _him_.” You couldn’t help letting a bit of disgust seep into your voice. The boy put you at ease in his own odd way, such that you felt comfortable divulging a bit more of your own circumstances. He looked upon you with glee.

“That old place, huh? I can see why you wanna change things up,” he snickered. “What’s your name, while I’m asking?”

You gave him an odd look and then told him, taking your hood off in the process. His face gleamed when he got a clear view of you.

“What’s your name, then, now that I’ve told you mine?” you asked.

“Montag,” he said, “But you can call me Mo-…no. You can call me whatever you want.”

“Montag,” you repeated, nearly snorting. “I see. You look more like a…a Lucio or something to me.”

“Lucio…” he mumbled slowly, as if he were getting a taste for the word. “…I like it. Nice and regal. God knows I need more of that.” Montag let out a scoff and extended a hand towards you, flicking it down towards the clearing on the ground.

“So, wanna summon a wyrm together?” he asked with a smirk. “We can keep in touch afterwards and tell eachother how it went. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

The sudden request caught you off-guard, and you couldn’t help but show it in your face. Montag seemed harmless enough, but you still took it upon yourself to be on guard. Snippets of the odd tale of the Scourge of the South echoed in your mind.

He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

You looked up and locked eyes with him. “Can I trust you not to tell anyone about this?”

A smirk spread across Montag’s face. It seemed to be his default expression, but this time around it felt more genuine. “Cross my heart. It’ll be our secret.”

With that, you took his hand and shook it firmly.

“Alright…Lucio.” You returned his smirk with one of your own. “Let’s summon a wyrm.”


End file.
